FIRST KISS

by Marylin Pappano

  * * *

  Holly sat on the porch steps, staring into the dark night sky. Behind her it was business as usual inside the inn. Dessert was being served in the restaurant, beds were being turned down upstairs, dishes were being washed in the kitchen. Life was going merrily on.

  Except for her. She was numb inside, and might remain that way forever.

  She heard footsteps behind her. Tom. Who else would have the nerve to approach her? She'd sent him away two hours ago. She'd wanted to be alone, wanted to be with him, hadn't wanted to admit just how much she wanted to be with him. She had asked him politely, calmly, to leave her in peace, and, after one look into her eyes, he had politely, calmly agreed.

  How had he known that she'd had enough solitude for now?

  He sat down on the step above her, his legs on either side of her, and wrapped a down comforter around them both before pulling her back to lean against him. He didn't say anything but simply held her, warmed her, inside and out.

  After a time she clasped his hands. "Did Margery settle down?"

  "I called J.D. He sedated her. She won't wake up until morning."

  "What about Bree and her mother?"

  "They talked for a while, then Allison left to go home. Bree went for a walk and hasn't come back yet."

  Holly numbly shook her head. "All those years I wished for a sister, and when I stopped wishing … I got one. I just didn't know it. I guess that explains why she was so nervous around me."

  "I imagine it would be scary, meeting the legitimate daughter who doesn't know you're the illegitimate one."

  "I can't believe…"

  "You knew your parents weren't happy."

  "Yes, but I didn't know my father went out and got himself a whole new family he could be happy with!" Belatedly she bit her lip. She didn't want to yell at him. He was the only one who'd done nothing wrong, who hadn't hidden something from her. "I'm sorry."

  He hugged her tighter. "He wasn't rejecting you, Holly. You remember what your mother was like. She made life miserable for both of you. He had a chance to be happy with Allison, and he took it."

  "Why didn't he divorce Margery first? Why didn't he ever tell me I had a sister?"

  "People used to take those vows about 'for better, for worse, until death do us part' very seriously. Maybe he didn't want to put you though a divorce. Maybe he was too big a coward." His shrug rippled through her. "And as for telling you… How could he do that without tarnishing himself in your eyes?"

  She squeezed her eyes shut to chase away the tears. "I always felt sorry for him. He was a good man. And my mother… She was determined to punish him for moving her here. As long as she suffered, by God, so would he. Sometimes I indulged in these fantasies about his sending her back to the city, and he and I would live here together, just the two of us, and we would be so happy." She scoffed. "Now I know if he'd sent her away, he would have moved Allison and Bree in, and I would have been the outsider. He would have loved Bree better because he loved her mother, and when he looked at me, he would have seen Margery, and he would have ha—"

  "He would have loved you as much as he always had."

  She wondered if he was right and decided she wanted to believe it regardless. After all, her father was dead. Who was going to prove them wrong?

  After a time, she gave a shake of her head. "God, a sister! I just can't believe… I'm old enough to be her mother. And I almost fired her because she kept breaking stuff because she was so nervous every time I came around. What if I had fired her? What if she'd left without telling me? I never would have known. I never would have—"

  Tom slid his hands up to her face, tilted her head back, and kissed her upside down. "You didn't fire her, she didn't leave, and now you know. You just have to decide what you're going to do about it."

  She hadn't even thought about that. She hadn't thought about anything besides surviving the shock of her father's affair. No, not affair. Lewis's relationship with Allison had lasted at least eight years. He'd shared a house with them in Rochester, had spent two, three, four nights a week there for eight years. He'd pretended to be married to Allison, had been a loving father to Bree.

  "I don't know that I'm going to do anything. Get to know her, I guess." She twisted so she could lean back against his thigh and gaze up at him. "How did Margery and Allison meet?" She was sketchy on some details. She'd listened to as much of the explanations as she could, and then she had walked out. She would have exploded if she'd heard one more word, felt one more degree of emotion.

  "Before your parents were married, Allison was a maid for Margery's family. That's how she met your father. He was dating Margery but started to get interested in Allison. Margery found out, fired Allison, and pressured your father into marrying her. A few years later he ran into Allison again in Rochester, and…"

  Oh, God, they'd been together more than eight years—more like twenty-something. A lifetime. Holly's lifetime.

  "Listen, darlin', forget about your father, your mother, and Allison. Just concentrate on Bree. You and she are the only ones who matter."

  She held his gaze for a long time, drawing strength from it, before finally sighing. "Maybe you should find her. Make sure she's all right."

  "Maybe we should." He untangled himself from the comforter and stood up, then helped her to her feet, supporting her until her legs were steady.

  She waited until then to shake her head. "I don't want to see her yet. I don't want to talk."

  "Holly—"

  "Please, Tom. Just find her and bring her back. I'll talk to her as soon as I can deal with it."

  He looked as if he wanted to argue, but she didn't give him a chance. She squeezed his hands tightly, then stepped around him and went inside. She knew she should go with him, should talk to Bree right away, but she felt too … betrayed. Disillusioned. Hurt.

  All her life she'd blamed her mother for making her father so unhappy. It had never occurred to her that he might be the cause of her unhappiness. All those years he'd been unfaithful to her. All those years he'd lived another life, with another wife, another daughter. No wonder Margery's drinking had gotten out of control. She'd needed to forget.

  Holly would have given a lot to forget, to wipe the last few hours from her mind. She wanted to think of her father once again as a good man. Not a liar, a betrayer, a fraud. Not a cheating two-timer who hadn't cared enough for his wives or his daughters, who had cared too much about his own happiness. She wanted to face his memory one more time with affection and love, not disappointment. She'd trusted him, believed in him, felt such great sympathy for him, and he had lied to her, to her mother, to the whole damn world. His entire life as she knew it had been one great, meticulous lie.

  And she wasn't sure she would ever forgive him for it.

  * * *

  Tom had done this routine before, on another cold winter night. Then it had been Christmas Eve, and he'd been looking for Maggie, who'd left home after an argument with Ross. He'd seen more of Bethlehem that night than he'd ever wanted to see, and all he'd been able to think about was what had happened the previous Christmas Eve, when she'd left after another argument and had nearly died on an ice-covered highway.

  This time he felt relatively certain nothing so traumatic had happened to Bree. She'd been upset but not that upset. It was cold, but the roads were clear, and it was dark, but this was Bethlehem. The streets were safe.

  He was halfway through a methodical search, all the way down one street and back up the next, when he finally spotted her, huddling against the cold in the bandstand in the square. He turned into a parking space, then followed the sidewalk to the bandstand.

  Bree sat on one step, an older woman on the next. He couldn't place her until she lit up with a big smile and greeted him with great pleasure. "Mr. Flynt! How nice of you to come. See, Samantha, I told you they'd be worried about you."

  She was Gloria, who'd checked coats at the Sweethearts Dance, whom Holly had found trespassing on her propert
y, who couldn't keep names straight to save her life. He greeted her with a nod before turning his attention to the girl—to Holly's sister. The designation sounded strange in his mind. "Bree, are you all right?"

  She nodded, though her eyes were puffy.

  "Poor girl," Gloria said, patting her arm. "I found her here weeping as if her heart were breaking. Why, last time I heard tears like those, it snowed for two solid days. She was afraid she had ruined everything, but I told her she hadn't ruined a thing. There might have been more tactful ways to break the news that she's Holly's sister, but she can't be blamed because her mother spoiled things, now can she?"

  "No, of course not."

  An awkward silence settled over them. After a moment, Gloria broke it with a sudden clap of her hands as she stood up. "I'd best be going. Remember what I told you, Serena. Be honest, be patient, and have faith. Mr. Flynt, the same advice wouldn't hurt you any." With a nod, she crossed the bandstand, then stopped and turned back. Though she was smiling, her gaze was oddly intense when it connected with his. "Honesty, patience, and faith. Trust me."

  Feeling uncomfortable, Tom glanced away. He was a reasonably honest man, and he could be very patient. He wasn't sure where he stood on faith, though. Luckily, he didn't have to decide at that moment, because when he looked back, she was already out of sight.

  After a long moment, he sat down one step below Bree. Beyond good-mornings exchanged in the hallway, he probably hadn't spoken to her twice. But soon, if luck was with him, she would be his sister-in-law.

  When he'd decided to get married, he'd expected to get a wife, nothing more. He'd given no thought to mothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, or, in the future, nieces or nephews. He well might wind up with more of a family than he'd ever thought possible.

  And that was a more pleasant prospect than he'd ever believed possible.

  Finally Bree gave a great sigh and murmured, "I'm so sorry."

  "For what? Wanting to meet your sister?"

  "Breaking the news in such a horrible way." Fumbling in her pocket, she drew out a tissue and blew her nose. "I'd never dreamed Mom would look for me… Daddy used to tell me he'd bring Holly to meet us someday. After he died, Mom told me to just forget about her. But how do you forget your only sister?"

  "So you decided to come and meet her on your own."

  She nodded. "All these years I wondered … I thought maybe we could be friends, even if we couldn't be sisters. But when I finally met her, she was so…" At a loss for words, she shrugged, then rested her chi in her cupped hands.

  Holly was definitely so … Tom silently agreed. So beautiful. Sensual, sexual. Bold, aggressive, independent. So no-nonsense. She'd intimidated the hell out of Bree from the start, and an intimidated Bree was not an impressive sight.

  Suddenly she looked at him. "Is she going to fire me?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Is she angry?"

  "She's stunned. And, yes, she's angry with her father. She feels betrayed." He wondered how, or if, that would affect things between them. Her father was the only man she'd loved and trusted unconditionally, and now, so many years after his death, he'd broken her heart. Would she use it as an excuse to push him away?

  She might try. But damned if he was going to let her succeed.

  "Our father loved her very much," Bree said softly. "He talked about her a lot."

  "Did you know back then that he was married to Margery and not your mother?"

  She looked stricken. "Oh, no. Until this afternoon, I believed he'd divorced Margery. He and Mom wore matching wedding bands. He spoke of her as his wife. I never dreamed…" Moaning softly, she hid her face in her hands. "Oh, God, it sounds like some TV movie, doesn't it? The honest, upright, churchgoing pillar of the community who secretly has two wives, two families, two lives. No wonder Holly's stunned."

  Tom stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets. "We've been out in the cold long enough. Let's head back."

  But all Bree did was look up. In the dim light, panic glazed her hazel eyes. "What if she doesn't want me there? What if she doesn't want anything around to remind her of—of what he did? What if she throws me out?"

  "She's not going to throw you out." That was the only question he could answer for sure. It was entirely possible that Holly wouldn't want her around, that she might fire her and put her on the first bus to Rochester. But that bus wouldn't be running until the middle of the week, and until then Bree needed a place to live, and Holly didn't throw family out. Margery's presence at the inn proved that.

  "But what if she hates me? What if she blames me for ruining her life? What if she just tolerates having me there the way she just tolerates her mother?"

  "If that's the case, you'll have to deal with it. But you won't know until you face her, so…" As if it were something he did every day, he extended his hand and, when she took it, pulled her to her feet. They walked to the car in silence. They'd driven several blocks when Bree spoke. "Are you in love with Holly?"

  His fingers automatically tightened around the steering wheel and the muscles in his stomach clenched. His first impulse was to answer no, of course not. He'd been called a coldhearted bastard in fifteen languages, and coldhearted bastards didn't know how to love anything but money and power. His second impulse was to tell her to mind her own business. What he felt for Holly was strictly between him and her. Family or not, no twenty-something teary-eyed kid had any right to pry into his personal life.

  But all either response would accomplish was to brush her off. It wouldn't stop the question from echoing quietly inside him. Was he in love with Holly?

  Aware of Bree's unwavering gaze, Tom felt his face grow warm. "Define love," he said gruffly.

  She was silent for a moment, then she said, "Everything in your life is different. You find yourself doing things you never would have done before her, having conversations you couldn't have had. She changes the way you look at life, at other people, at yourself. Things that never mattered before become important to you because they're important to her. You don't care what anyone else thinks of you, but you care what she thinks. You rearrange your priorities to make more time for her. Being with her makes you happy. Being away from her leaves you feeling empty. When she's upset or afraid or hurt, there's nothing you wouldn't do to make it all right. She makes you all right." Her voice softened. "She's the best thing that ever happened to you, and without her … you might not survive."

  Well, hell, he thought as he turned into the inn's drive. She'd done a fair job of describing how he felt. So that was love, and he wasn't incapable of it at all.

  He parked and reached to shut off the engine. Bree stopped him with her hand on his arm. "You didn't answer. Do you love Holly? Is that how you feel?"

  He drew a breath and murmured into the darkness, "I feel scared to death."

  Her reply sounded amused. "Yeah, that's part of it, too."

  "But right now the problem with Holly is yours. Are you ready to face her?"

  "No." She laughed nervously. "My whole plan sounded so much better in Rochester. I thought I would come here, get a job, dazzle her with my efficiency, and after we became the best of friends, then I'd tell her who I was. Naturally, she would be thrilled to finally have the sister she'd always wanted and would welcome me as such." She gave a shake of her head. "Fantasies are always so much better than reality."

  "She did always want a sister."

  "Really?" She sounded hopeful, but it quickly passed. "Wanting a sister and actually having one are two different matters. A fantasy sister doesn't mess up your life, destroy your good memories of your father, or send your mother into a rage."

  True. But fantasies couldn't be as good as reality, because if they were, he might not stand a chance.

  And he couldn't stand that.

  They went into the inn, past the somber night clerk and through the kitchen to the door to Holly's apartment. After trying it and finding it locked, Tom knocked.

  A moment later, Holly's voic
e came quietly through the door. "What?"

  "It's me."

  "And me," Bree added, sounding as nervous as she looked.

  Everything, it seemed, became utterly still. Each breath he and Bree took was magnified in his ears. The throb of his pulse provided a quiet back beat, and Bree's nervous shifting made her clothing rustle audibly.

  After the click of the lock turning, Holly slowly opened the door, but no more than a few inches, which she blocked with her could. She was dressed for bed in a T-shirt and robe, and looked pale and stressed, with lines bracketing her mouth, her arms folded across her chest, her hands knotted tightly. She didn't say a word but simply looked at them.

  Bree began. "Holly, I'm so sorry—"

  Holly interrupted her coolly, unemotionally. "If you feel like finishing your shift, go ahead. If you don't, that's fine, too." Then she moved to close the door.

  Bree stopped her. "Can't we talk?" she pleaded. "Just for a minute? There are so many things I want to say to you, so many questions I want to ask."

  "Not tonight. I've heard all I want to hear from you tonight. Go to the kitchen, go to your room, go wherever you want, as long as it's away from me. Leave me alone."

  Bree stared at her for a moment, obviously tempted to speak anyway, then spun around, went into her room, and closed the door.

  "Well … that was certainly the mature way to handle it," Tom said mildly.

  Holly moved once more to close the door, but he was prepared for it. He grabbed hold, forced her to back away and came in.

  "What was that all about?" he demanded.

  "I'm tired, and I have a headache. I don't feel like dealing with her tonight."

  "'Dealing' with her? That's your sister, for God's sake. She waited her entire life to meet you, and you don't feel like 'dealing' with her?"

  She started to turn away, but he caught her arm and pulled her back. Suddenly angry, she jerked loose. "I don't feel like dealing with you, either," she said coldly. "So why don't you get the hell out?"